Fifteen Months Too Long
by HuntressofHope
Summary: One year; that's when he is supposed to return home. One year has come and gone, and I am still waiting, believing. He will come back to me. He promised. But then again, don't they all? Bofur OC Slightly OOC Bofur


**AN: *Huntress peeks out from behind Legolas, who has his bow drawn* Okay, before you get mad, I WILL update Elona Moriah. But before you kill me for being a horrible author and making you wait so long for an update after that cliffhanger, let me explain why I wrote this. I had a REALLY crappy Monday. My horse decided that he wanted to be an idiot yesterday, and reared up twice, bucked once, and frankly would not clam down enough to do a single thing I wanted him to. One thing led to another, and I completely lost my temper with him, screaming bloody murder at him to stop being a jerk and submit to me. After that, I was reduced to a sobbing mess, and decided that I would try to write for a while to calm down. I pulled up Microsoft Word, and started just started typing away, not really thinking about it. Then this morning (Tuesday), I pulled it up to delete it, but then I thought "Well, why not post it? There's not enough of these stories in the Hobbit fandom anyway." **

**So there you have it. How this story was born. R&amp;R, and I will go start working on Elona Moriah. Poor girl has been stuck in the woods for long enough. **

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It has been fifteen months. Fifteen months since I last saw him, heard his loud, booming laugh, felt his beard as he kissed my cheek in good bye. Fifteen months since he held me in his arms and quietly whispered how much he loved me into my ear. It has been fifteen months, and I am ready to break.

The first three months were alright. Each night I would finger the small, beautiful animals he had carved for me over the years. I would smile at the thought of him, and fall asleep dreaming of his lilting accent. Then about the sixth month, reality took hold of me. He was going to Erebor, to face a dragon. Who knew what he would face. It was not some easy-paced hunting trip he was going on with his cousin. It was war. My mind whirled with these thoughts, and I would finger the two braids in my hair. One was a courting braid he had put there almost three years ago, and the other was to announce our betrothal. We announced it about the same time Thorin asked for him to be a part of his company.

I became more melancholy as time went on and we neither heard nor saw anything of the company of Thorin Oakenshield. I would drop into these dismal moods, and my parents knew better than to try to comfort me. Everything reminded me of him, from his stupid hat he always wore to his sweet, spicy pipe weed.

One year, at most. That was what he said to me. He would be gone no longer than one year. He promised he would come back, but then again, don't they all?

It has been fifteen months now. Every evening, just as the sun starts to dip behind the Misty Mountains, I would stand on the hill behind Ered Luin, watching the horizon for some sign of him. I don't laugh. I don't smile. I don't sing. I have no reason to. He is my joy, my hope. Without him, why should I be happy? If he is gone…no. I will not think like that. But it is hard not to. To think that I may never hear his soothing voice sing a ridiculous song again, or watch his stupid hat flop around as he dances at the local pub, or run my fingers through his chocolaty hair (when he takes them out of his braids)…it is too hard. I want to drop to my knees and beg the earth to take me back to the stone we came from at the mere thought of never seeing him again.

That night, my dreams are plagued with horrific nightmares. I am running around in darkness, calling his name frantically. Finally, I see a pinprick of light. I run towards it, knowing that when I reach it I will be able to fall into his arms again. What I see is not what I expected, however. Yes, he is there, but he is lying unmoving on the ground surrounded by corpses. I look closer, and see his glassy eyes staring into nothingness. I drop to my knees beside him and cradle his face in my hands. His pale skin is covered in cold blood. I choke back a sob, and whimpering his name I rest my forehead on his.

"Wake up, please _please_ wake up. Don't leave me alone. I need you. You are everything to me. We are going to get married, and live in that house you are going to build on top of the hill. You promised me you would come back, remember? You PROMISED!" I screeched, finally submitting to the tears. "Please, my love, come home."

I woke with a start, tears trailing down my cheeks and wetting my pillow. I sat up and looked out the window. The weather matched my mood; grey and rainy. I felt a sharp pain in my hand and looked down. I had been clutching a wooden figurine in my sleep, the last one he gave me. It was a hawk in flight, her wings spread majestically. "_You are my hawk, Kazala. Always brave, always beautiful, and always free. That's what I love about you." _

The day dragged by. I took our eggs to the market, but no one wanted to get out in this weather. I kept the hawk in my pocket, rubbing it constantly in my distracted state. The clouds never left; if anything, they grew darker.

Something small and wet hit my nose; it was beginning to rain. I pulled the hood of my cloak up and began gathering my things together. Soon, lightning split the sky, making me let out a small yelp of terror. My brother had died when lightning struck a tree next to our house, setting it on fire and making it fall into our small home. I have been terrified of it ever since.

I abandoned my things when a second whip of light split the sky, choosing instead to run blindly through the torrential rain. Tears mixed with rain drops on my cheeks as I ran. Eventually I came to a familiar building, and I hardly hesitated before barging in. The cool air of the old house was a comforting relief to the storm, at least until I realized where I was.

I had unconsciously ran to the one place I felt completely secure, _his _home. Everything had a fine layer of dust on it from not being used in fifteen months, and grey light filtered through the shutters. The storm wasn't going to let up any time soon, so I might as well make myself comfortable.

I shuffled into the living room, leaving a trail of water and mud in the dust. I thought about starting a fire, but I had no kindling or matches. Instead, I continued through the house to the hall in the back. The first door led into his cousin's room. The second door was his brother's. Third was his. He had carved his name in runes when he was younger, much to the vexation of his mother.

_This is the room of Bofur. No one but Bofur and Bombur is allowed. _

I smiled at the choppy knife carvings. Below it, in neater runes than the first ones, was written _and Bifur_, with an arrow pointing to the space after Bombur's name. I ran my hand over Bofur's familiar handwriting. It had been so long since I had seen it. Letting out a choked sob, I gently pushed the door open.

Memories overtook me as I stepped into the familiar room. There was his comb that he used to braid my hair when I came to him, crying and upset. There was his nice whittling set that he used to carve toys for children. And there, sitting on his dresser, was a charcoal sketching of the two of us lying together in front of a fire. We were on our stomachs, reading a book that was spread out before us. Well, I was reading a book. Bofur was gazing at me, one hand holding his chin and the other gently placing a strand of hair behind my ear.

I gently picked up the frame that held the precious memory and clutched it to my chest. I fell back on his bed, tears falling freely from my eyes. I turned my head into the pillows, inhaling the scent that still lingered there. It was distinctly him, a mixture of smoke, wood, and cinnamon. I closed my eyes, tired from running through the down pour outside. The soothing scent of Bofur filling my head, I was gently lulled into a restless sleep.

I slept fitfully, halfway between the world of dreams and the land of the living. Once, I thought I heard the door opening and footsteps approaching, but I dozed off again before I could be sure. The next time I woke up, there was a heavy blanket covering me and a pillow under my head, fighting away the chill of the rain. I was about to go back to sleep, but a familiar tune being hummed by and even more familiar voice startled my into full wakefulness.

I immediately say up, only to realize I was completely alone in Bofur's room. But I furrowed my brow in confusion when I saw the picture back where it belonged and a heavy wool blanket covering me.

"How in Mahal…" I stopped myself when I heard the voice down the hall. I let out a choked gasp and flung the blanket back. I didn't notice that my boots had been taken off and my drying cloak was hanging over the chair. My thoughts were solely focused on that deep, soothing accent drifting with the pipe-smoke down the hall. I tore into the living room to see smoke curling lazily around his favorite armchair, the tips of his hat barely visible from where I was standing. The fire was roaring, banishing the grey atmosphere I had fallen asleep in. It felt like another memory: he had just come home from the mines, and I had been waiting for him with a basket of warm sweet rolls.

"Bofur?" I whispered, still in shock. I was sure that at any moment my heart would beat right out of my chest. The humming stopped and for a moment, all I could hear was the crackling of flames. I almost thought that it _was_ just another memory, and I had finally gone mad. But then Bofur stood up. He had taken his heavy leather coat off that he usually wore, and was instead wearing his long brown tunic, leather breeches, and belt, leaving his thick, muscled arms bare. He didn't turn around to face me at first, but walked over to the fire place and emptied his pipe.

"I was wondering when you would wake up," his deep, familiar brogue felt like a warm hug on a cold day. I almost whimpered at the feeling.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Really? Is that the best thing I can think to say after not seeing or hearing from him for over a year?

Bofur chuckled, jerking me out of my thoughts. His back still turned to me, he answered "You looked like you needed the sleep." I still wasn't sure if this was real. It must be a dream. "My little hawk, do you really think that?"

Had I said that out loud? I opened my mouth to answer, but when he turned around, all my thoughts halted and my voice died in my throat at his smile. How had I believed this to be a dream? My vision tunneled, and the next thing I knew, I was collapsing into his broad chest and sobbing on his shoulder.

"Hush my love, everything is alright. I'm home now, and I am not leaving again." He stroked my hair and whispered sweet nonsense into my ear as I clutched him as if my life depended on it. "You…you said…said it would only…take a year…" I took a shuddering breath through my tears. "When you didn't come home…I-I thought…I thought…" I let out another sob and clutched his tunic tighter. Bofur tightened his arms around my shoulders and crushed me to his chest.

"Oh my âzyungâl, did you really believe that I would leave you alone?" He shuddered. "No, Kazala. I will fight Aule, Mahal, and all the Valar just to remain by your side. Nothing can keep you from me." He brought his hands up to my shoulders and pulled back. I immediately felt cold and alone, even though he was mere inches from me.

"You have grown more beautiful in my absence, little hawk," he murmured. "Your hair is longer, but your eyes, they do not shine lass. Why do her eyes not shine?" he was whispering to himself now.

I studied his face, re-committing it to memory. He had a few new scars; the most prominent one running down his face from his temple to his cheek.

The feeling of my hand caressing his cheek jerked him out of his memories. "Bofur, what do you see?" Bofur smiled sadly. "I see a battlefield my love. Covered in blood." I noticed how haunted his eyes were, how forced his smile was.

"Whose blood, Bofur?"

Bofur shuddered at my whisper. "Orcs, elves, men…dwarves." I looked into his eyes. "Dwarves? Longbeard dwarves?" Bofur nodded. "Aye lass. The line of Durin has ended." I stepped away and brought my hands to my mouth.

The line of Durin…oh Dis. Dis was my best friend growing up. My aunt was her mother's handmaiden. I sat down hard on a chair by the table. Thorin was as a brother to me. And Fili and Kili…I choked back yet another sob.

I felt my love's secure arms surround me again, and I shifted so that my head rested in the crook of his neck. "Does Dis know?" Bofur nodded. "Aye, Dwalin and Balin left to tell her a hour ago." I sighed and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"I missed you Bofur. So much." I heard him hum in agreement. "I know mizim. I missed you more than you know." I looked up when I felt his gaze on me. "Every day, I would watch for you. Even if I thought you were not coming back, I watched. I love you." I whispered the words almost too soft for him to hear. But he did, and he bent his head down to rest his forehead against mine. "I love you as well, idùzhib."

When he kissed me, I physically felt all my fear and doubt melt away. It was his way of telling me everything he couldn't put into words. He was slow and tender, but also fierce. It was Bofur distinctly Bofur, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I had spent fifteen months without him, and now that I was back in his arms, I never intend to let him go again.


End file.
